In the late spring of Qingming, I look at the northern hills. Flirting opens a new flame with a fire, and tung flowers make old branches. Shen Ming was ashamed of the past and kept the banquet secret from his friends. Not as good as a bird in the forest, moving Joe and feathers.
Look around the world of mortals. Just finished combing the willow, and the red makeup has fallen. I can't sigh how much youth I have, nor can I scratch my head full of vicissitudes. If you think about emptiness and regret for a long time, you will know that you will be empty when you are old.